Addictive Games
by controlled climb
Summary: "Molly, you have to understand. This-"–-she nodded, gesturing between the two of them–-"-it's just not acceptable. Imagine what the family would say. Those boys mean nothing to me. They're just for appearances."


Thank you, mew-tsubaki, for beta'ing for me! :3

**femmeslash** and **cousincest**.

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><p>She was the sort of girl that had a different boy for each day of the week. She'd look at one boy <em>- how those muscles rippled <em>- and she was taken. But then she'd look at another - _you know... those freckles are kind of cute _- and she was gone.

Most girls would call her a slut, but Victoire Weasley didn't care about such fickle matters. What did it matter? Her mother had taught her well in the ways of perfection and grace. Her father had attempted to teach her on life issues, such as morals, school, trying your hardest and never settling for second best. Huh. What did he know? Morals. She'd lived long enough without them. And get an easy grade by fucking the teacher, right? He was, however, dead right about not settling for second best. As if Victoire Weasley would _ever_ do that.

The girl that everyone hated. That would probably be easiest way to describe her. Perfection. Yet another good way to describe her. And she didn't mind either. In fact, she flaunted it - she _mocked_ people with it.

"Molly," Victoire murmured across the Ravenclaw table to her younger cousin. "Could you please do something about those curls? You know how it is, don't you? Perfect curls or perfectly straight - just something pretty. It's not too hard to comprehend."

Molly glared, but self-consciously her fingers flew to her wavy - _not straight, not curled_ - hair. "Comprehend. Big word for you."

"How do you _think_ I got into Ravenclaw?"

And with that catty reply, she sauntered off, her hips swinging like a pendulum and her eyes set almost maliciously on her next victim. Molly didn't mind because she was used to it. But all those other girls... Oh, how Molly pitied them.

She found her cousin later on, sitting on a bench entangled with yet another boy that she can't remember the name of. Clearing her throat and clenching her teeth, Molly shook her head in disgust.

"I have to talk to you."

Pouting and not bothering to remove her hand from its compromising position in the bloke's lap, she snapped, "I've no business with you, so bugger off."

Molly pursed her lips in annoyance. "_Victoire_," she spat, pulling at her cousin's arm and hauling her up, ignoring the older girl's protests. "I got a letter from your father today. And believe me, you bloody well want to see it."

"And why in Merlin's name would my father write to you about anything?" Victoire returned sharply. Still, she gave the boy on the bench a wink and flipped her hair as elegantly as she could as she was dragged away by the fiery brunette.

They'd only reached the corridor when Victoire's patience ran out. "Where's the letter, Molly? I'm busy."

"Are you mad?" Molly asked incredulously. "Of course there's no bloody letter. I need a chat, though. What the hell do you think you're playing at?"

The girl looked her cousin up and down for a moment, her blue eyes analysing her every moment. Finally, Victoire said, "Stop clenching your fists like that, Molly. I know you won't hit me - with a spell or otherwise." Softly running her fingers up her cousin's arm, Victoire smiled. The gesture fell flat, though. Because Victoire never _smiled_. Not unless she was flirting. Otherwise, she only grimaced awkwardly – hardly an attractive look.

"Why are you doing this?" Molly said shakily, taking a step back and blinking ferociously.

Victoire sighed, closing the space between them again and placing her hands on Molly's shoulders, beginning to gently steer her down the corridor.

"I'm sorry about breakfast, Molly. You know I love your hair."

She paused, looking sharply around the place before pulling Molly into a dusty cupboard with her. As if to prove her point, Victoire didn't hesitate before pushing the girl against the wall and winding her fingers through Molly's dark locks.

Placing her lips against Molly's neck, she murmured, "You know I love you."

"The…the boys…" Molly managed to stammer as she instinctively grasped Victoire's waist. "Y-you…"

At this, Victoire pulled away, placing her hands flat against the wall that she'd pressed Molly against just moments ago.

"Molly, you have to understand. This-"–-she nodded, gesturing between the pair–-"-it's just not acceptable. Imagine what the family would say. Those boys mean nothing to me. They're just for appearances."

"You don't have to fuck every boy at Hogwarts to let everyone think that you're _straight_ and not screwing your cousin."

And the waterworks – always the waterworks. Molly could never understand how Victoire could make her feel so needy and oh so _pathetic_. Tightening her grip on the older girl, Molly looked up sadly at her through wet eyes, her chest heaving as she struggled to control her tears.

Victoire stared blankly back. With a sigh, she wiped the tears away, kissing each cheek for good measure. Slowly, she removed her hands from the wall and began to pry Molly's fingers from her waist.

"Don't do this. Not again."

"I don't _love_ them, Molly. But right now, I ought to go." Victoire gave a weak shrug. "I'll see you later."

Molly opened her mouth to protest, but with a silencing kiss and the quiet shutting of the cupboard door, Victoire was gone. Off to snog another boy. Off to fuck another boy. Molly shuddered, slipping down the wall and sitting on the ground with her knees hugged to her chest.

The problem with Victoire was that she was addictive – so, so addictive. And no matter how many times they played the incest game, no matter how many promises were broken and no matter how many tears never dried, Molly waited. She'd wait and wait and wait. And eventually, in days, months or years, Victoire would come back.

She always did.


End file.
